


The Forgotten Letter

by Syksy



Category: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar
Genre: Epistolary, Other, POV Second Person, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22654591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syksy/pseuds/Syksy
Summary: An unsent letter, found floating in the zee. For some strange reason, the ink has not smeared or blurred, but has taken on a reddish cast, as if it was mixed with blood. The hand it's written in seems very familiar, so you allow your curiosity to get the better of your manners yet again.
Relationships: Player/?
Comments: 10
Kudos: 18
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	The Forgotten Letter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Snickfic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snickfic/gifts).



An unsent letter, found floating in the zee. For some strange reason, the ink has not smeared or blurred, but has taken on a reddish cast, as if it was mixed with blood. The hand it's written in seems very familiar, so you allow your curiosity to get the better of your manners yet again.

  
  


”My dearest friend and companion of my heart,

I have been forced to flee the scandal to the Tomb Colonies. It is absolutely preposterous that our connection was the one thing society could not forgive me for. As you are well aware, I have done my share of unsavoury things, and a well placed word in the right sort of ear has always been enough to make the rumours disappear. Apparently not anymore. Jealous, the lot of them, I am positive of that.

My lodgings are adequate, even if very simple compared to the comforts I enjoy at the Embassy. The company is somewhat diverting, at least those still able to produce legible speech, who are one and all keen to share most riveting tales of their adventures beyond these shores. One lady, only recently arrived from London, as I had already deduced from her unusually well retained liveliness, shared with me something that should greatly amuse you as well. Miss H__, that tedious old busybody, apparently has for years carried on with a rubbery man! Can you imagine! And her turning her nose up at me when we were found out, the utter hypocrite!

I fervently wish for at least a lick of honey to share a dream with you, as it must be a little while yet before we can again be united in the flesh. Alas, the stuff does not appear to available here for some reason, so I am to be denied even that small comfort. I do miss you so.

My mind often turns to dark thoughts here. I know they are celebrating the Feast of the Exceptional Rose in London now and I cannot but wonder in whose arms you dance at the balls. With a mask over your face, who should know that you are being untrue to one so lowly as I? But no, my love, do not think for a moment that I doubt you, for truly I don’t. It is but a momentary madness, caused by the gloom and despair that permeates the very air in this place. I am not forgetting our promises to one another either, though in all honesty I must say that the temptations here are not at all hard to overcome.

Rest assured that my affection for you has not waned, and shall not do so. This will all blow over in a thrice and when it does, I shall be on the first boat back, no matter if it be the filthiest tramp steamer ever to brave the Unterzee. We’ll sit at our old table in the Singing Mandrake and the only thing sweeter than their wine will be your lips. Do you still remember the first time I kissed you? How surprised you were, and how eager!

In the meantime, I shall endeavour to further our shared interests here, lest the whole sorry affair be a complete waste of time. As a matter of fact, I came across quite a promising bit of information just the other day.”

  
  


The letter ends there, without a signature or any sign of it ever being folded to be sent, as if the writer had been called away and never returned to the task. You wonder idly about the fate of these unknown lovers, having never had time to spare for such passions yourself. Was it worth all the pain and discomfort? Were they able to find happiness or did one or both come to regret it in the end?

As your thoughts drift, you let your eyes rest on the eerily familiar lines of ink. Suddenly you realize something: it is not blood the shade reminds you of, but irrigo, the colour of forgetting. And the handwriting – it is your own.


End file.
